


Al Fresco En Francais

by Missy



Category: Mary Poppins (1964), Mary Poppins - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Outdoor Sex, Paris (City), Picnics, Sidewalk Chalk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bert awaits Mary's return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Al Fresco En Francais

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle: Prompt: Mary Poppins, Bert/Mary Poppins, date, reunion, chalk.

“When do you think she’s coming back?” little Jane asked Bert for the millionth time that afternoon as she followed Bert’s progress. He’d been painting an elaborate street scene in chalk before the Banks’ residence of Paris in the springtime.

“Well, Janey, I wish I could rightly say. But if you…”

“…Wait for the north wind to blow, she’ll come back…” Jane sighed, “I don’t think she ever will, no matter what you say.” With that, she skipped her way back up the street. Bert smiled to himself, shaking his head as he smudged away a runaway chalk like with a wet rag. Jane had grown canny in her callow youth, and Bert could only shake his head in bemusement at her lost sense of wonder – he could only surmise that she was her parent’s child and that she would change even more as she reached adolescence. 

Bert sighed as he took another quick look at the portrait he’d made before sitting down on the curb. It was extensive for a portrait of the Eiffel tower and the green, picturesque world around its bustling center, but it would likely be wiped away once the streetwashers came by in the morning. That suited him well enough; he only needed a single evening with the woman who was winging her way to him.

A stiff breeze announced her arrival, her red coat, and her magical umbrella ruffled by the breeze. “You know better than to lie to her,” she scolded gently, and took a moment to adjust her already-perfect hair.

Bert knew her name, but felt the need to announce her anyway. “Mary Poppins,” he smiled. “How long’s it been now?”

“If I were to judge by Jane’s age – which I would not, as it would be unladylike – I would suggest five years. Which, I fear, means that our date has been terribly delayed by unforeseen circumstances.” She offered him her elbow. “Shall we?”

“Spit-spot,” he echoed her, and together they leapt into the painting. 

Burt’s version of Paris had several improvements on the actual version – this one was warm, not inclemently cold, and flowers sang out some Hoagy Carmichael as they strolled, arm and arm, down a lane. 

“Where have you been all this time?”

“About the world,” Mary announced, as if it were nothing. “And the business of raising children. Several unruly ones in the latest lot – the father’s an ambassador, which is why I’ve returned.”

“And why I’ve taken you away from High Street.”

She smiled at him then. “I might’ve done you the favor of taking us to Paris.”

“Why should we go when I can bring it to you with a leap and a scribble?”

“Well,” she said, “I don’t suppose the true Paris’ got singing blossoms. And,” her stiff countenance nearly melting into a genuine smile this time, “it would be rude of us to bare ourselves this way on the actual Rue de Jardin.”

Bert tilted his head at her. “Corr? Which way?” 

Mary snapped her fingers and they were stark naked in an instant. “This way.”

Burt would have gasped, covered himself, with another woman, but Mary would brook no such foolishness so he stood proud and semi-tumescent beside her. She was as lithesome and youthful as she had been as in his teenage years, when he’d first glimpsed her walking a pram about Piccadilly Circus. 

Practicality, as with all things, took precedence with Mary; she knelt and pressed down a soft spot on the grass for them to lie on. “I don’t suppose you came prepared.” 

Bert grinned and produced a blanket from the thicket of bushes where he’d stowed their basket. Mary raised an eyebrow, silently approving of his economy – then she went about unpinning her hair while he rested himself on the ground, against the gingham covering of the damask.

Mary simply held out her arms when she finished. “It’s time.”

In a moment she was bare, gorgeous, and willing under Burt’s calloused hands. His mouth ghosted over her breast, drawing approving sighs and whispers from Mary’s lips. Quite practically, she drew his eager hand from between her thighs.

“I haven’t waited five bloody years for a quick tumble in the grass.”

Then she set upon him with carnal arts she’d learned through study of the karma sutra. Bert found himself bent forward in supplication as Mary straddled his lap, staring calmly into his eyes as she rose and fell upon his cock. 

 

Mary held on to Burt – normally, this was a state of mind, but in this case it was a literal, physical expansion of her being. Her arms and legs wrapped around him and he hips moved in their even, hypnotic way. He held himself barely in check, rocking into the rhythm of his hips. “Mary?” he asked as the pleasure grew and expanded within his cock, his belly. “Mary, may I?” 

“Oh yes,” she finally breathed. Then she cursed in Latin and convulsed around his prick.

Bert clung to Mary as he lost himself in the haven of her, and she was sweet enough to cradle him in turn, as they slipped to the ground as a pair, joined.

She gently shoved him aside, after he’d had time to recover, and after she’d regained her Maryish self-repose. But Bert saw a languidness in her eyes that was entirely new as her gaze roved the grassy hill about them. “I suppose we might have something to eat, if you find my bag.” 

He kissed the back of her neck and rose to assist her.


End file.
